


Memories

by PleasingTheDragon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleasingTheDragon/pseuds/PleasingTheDragon
Summary: Flashbacks to past trauma have Samandriel awake in the dead of night.





	Memories

__

Despite the dark and quiet of the studio apartment, the soft hum of the heater, Anja sound asleep by his side, Samandriel couldn't sleep. He and Anja, things had been fine before they went to bed. Before she pulled him close and whispered something filthy against his lips. He'd wanted it, he'd enjoyed it. He always did with her. She was safe. She really loved him. She could hug him from behind without a warning, cuddle up to him on the couch without asking permission, spontaneously steal a kiss or grab his ass. It was okay for her to do those things. Nice even. He didn't jump or freeze at an unexpected touch. At least not with her.  Because she was safe.

 

But it had taken Samandriel almost a year to feel that way and even now, even now he sat awake in bed trying not to cry with the darkness and the pain clinging after what should have felt like forever but instead still felt like only yesterday. Even with his rock, his refuge from the storm curling up against him in her sleep, he couldn't even begin to shake the feeling of what had once been good and sweet and gentle now a poison that refused to be purged.

 

He rubs the back of his neck, flinching at the scrape of his talons raking through his mane. Still the ghostly touch clings to him, the sensation of a sickly gentle hand caressing his skin. He licks his lips and tastes mint chapstick that he hasn't tasted in years. It's the taste of their lips, those lips whispering that they love him, that he was their world, that they would die without him. Those lips that called him princess and baby girl despite his meek requests not to do that. Those lips that curled in a sweet smile concealing fire and brimstone if he didn't get on his knees. Fingers that brush his lips, silencing his protest of the phone in their hand filming him kneeling before them, saliva and semen dripping down his chin as they pry his used mouth open for the camera. Fingers that woke him in the night pressing deep between his thighs, a raspy whisper praising how wet he is. A shuffle of fabric and they pull him back against their body - Samandriel flinched at the memory of biting his pillow to hide a whimper as they fucked him.

 

It was a torrent of thoughts, of recollections of honeyed words coercing him to just lay back, it won't take long, they just need him so badly they ache. It’d be cruel to make them wait.

 

Samandriel pressed his hand over his mouth to muffle a choked sob, trying so hard to not disturb Anja. She looked so angelic there next to him, so relaxed, so peaceful, dark hair laying around her in such a way Samandriel was half convinced she wasn't actually real. Nobody’s hair looked like that while they were sleeping. He wanted to reach down, to touch her cheek, to curl up with her and join her in the embrace of deep sleep. But he didn’t want to risk waking her, didn't want her to see him like this. For all the love in the world, she couldn't scrub away the scars and he knew that knowledge weighed heavy even on her strong shoulders.

 

He didn't want her to see the tear that beaded on his upper lip at the feeling of hot water running over his dark skin, water long since gone from his body but the feeling of their hands on him still fresh as each day it happened. He couldn't even shower alone. They were always there. When he ate, when he watched tv, when he went for a walk in the morning or even went to brush his teeth or take a piss. If they weren't there with him they were waiting and god forbid he was gone for too long.

 

It was worse when they drank. The semblance of care would all but vanish. With words meant to incite guilt if he refused - not that his refusal would be acknowledged - they'd pull his clothes off. Heavy hands, large body would press him into the mattress, prying his legs apart and demanding he look at them, that he beg for it. Not for them to stop. He could have managed that. But to beg for their cock, to moan for them like a girl in some sick porn flick. Like a girl. They never stopped treating him like a girl. Never stopped calling him a girl. Their hands on his body in front of others, fingers in his cunt when he just wanted to get high and forget the evening, whispering in his ear how they wanted to suck his tits, their breath reeking of cheap booze. How they wanted to take him to their room and breed him, make him fat with their children, make him give them a son to carry on the family name. 

 

Delicate fingers touched Samandriel’s thigh and he started out of his own thoughts. Anja blinked up at him, concern clear in magenta eyes. Samandriel tried to apologize for waking her but couldn’t get the words out, but Anja didn't want an apology. She sat up, wrapping her arms around her trembling dragon, stroking his curls as he fell apart in her embrace, weeping against her shoulder and clinging to her like a small child in need of comfort after a bad dream.

 

If only, Samandriel wished, if only it had been a bad dream.


End file.
